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*Take as Needed.Tue, 08 Apr 2014 13:37:46 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.org/?v=3.3.1Well, It Won’t Be a Gold in Cyclinghttp://www.momicillin.com/2012/07/31/well-it-wont-be-a-gold-in-cycling/
http://www.momicillin.com/2012/07/31/well-it-wont-be-a-gold-in-cycling/#commentsTue, 31 Jul 2012 12:59:14 +0000Erinhttp://www.momicillin.com/?p=4963Posted in StoriesWe have a torture device in the garage. Or so one would assume based on the screams A. emits when that door creaks upward. Slowly, if I’m feeling maniacal. Slower, if my voice goes deeper and I ask her “Hey, kid, wanna take a bike ride?” OH, the humanity! No exaggeration: every day for a month when we picked her up from the sitter’s, she’d talk about her fourth birthday coming up! when! she was! going to get! a new! [...]]]>We have a torture device in the garage. Or so one would assume based on the screams A. emits when that door creaks upward. Slowly, if I’m feeling maniacal. Slower, if my voice goes deeper and I ask her “Hey, kid, wanna take a bike ride?”

OH, the humanity!

No exaggeration: every day for a month when we picked her up from the sitter’s, she’d talk about her fourth birthday coming up! when! she was! going to get! a new! big kid! bike! You really could hear the exclamation points in her statements as she jumped up and down, right before she asked “Is it my birthday yet?”

Right: so we unveiled the new bike in June, right after cake. She loved it immediately; she wanted to sit on it, wear her helmet in the car and to the store. But, I guess, what we found out: she was more in love with the idea of the bike.

Her little sister wanted to ride on the new, shiny pink contraption with its training wheels and its snow-white tires.

“No! It’s MY bike!”

But she refused to sit on it.

We coaxed her on the seat, even held on to her as we glided her down our driveway at a dangerous 0.5 miles per hour. She gripped the handlebars like we’d pushed her solo off a zipline. I let her sit alone in the driveway while I helped her sister on her tricycle and — of course — for some reason, or no reason, perhaps, she tipped over.

Complete slow motion; the kind of fall you see coming, you know you should leap to intervene. The kind you feel your eyebrows react to before you remind yourself it’s not funny, stop laughing; no, really, go pick the bike off your child.

A. was not amused.

That was early June, and she’s not touched the bike since.

I’m scared she’ll never get back on — and worse, as her more daring sister climbs on and tries to reach the pedals to propel herself, A. runs screaming in the opposite direction like V. just pulled out a hand grenade. “Get her off the bike! She’s goin’ to falll!”

Ah, yes — someday I will admire her caution. Now, not so much.

]]>http://www.momicillin.com/2012/07/31/well-it-wont-be-a-gold-in-cycling/feed/0I Will Be Happy, or So Help Mehttp://www.momicillin.com/2012/07/09/i-will-be-happy-or-so-help-me/
http://www.momicillin.com/2012/07/09/i-will-be-happy-or-so-help-me/#commentsMon, 09 Jul 2012 12:50:21 +0000Erinhttp://www.momicillin.com/?p=4935Posted in StoriesNothing will break my good mood — do you hear me, children? You cannot break me. Try as you might, and I’ll credit you all three for trying. Now that I’m working part time, after years of working five days a week til 6 p.m., I am resolved to enjoy this new season. Through gritted teeth, maybe, but I will be smiling the whole time. Not even did I whine when, on my Monday off, I pushed a stroller at [...]]]>Nothing will break my good mood — do you hear me, children? You cannot break me. Try as you might, and I’ll credit you all three for trying.

Now that I’m working part time, after years of working five days a week til 6 p.m., I am resolved to enjoy this new season. Through gritted teeth, maybe, but I will be smiling the whole time.

Not even did I whine when, on my Monday off, I pushed a stroller at a snail’s pace the 10 minutes to the park with a toddler strolling behind in her rain boots on an 80-degree sunny day; her 4-year-old sister pedaling her tricycle slowly, oh so slowly. See her stop to stare at a dog in a back yard … a car … la-di-dah. “Earth to you, A.,” I waved. “Ah yes,” she seemed to remember and resume one or two turns of the pedals, til she was distracted again.

This is cute, I forced myself to remember. You could be working, remember!, I scolded myself.

When we entered the park gate, I willed myself not to scream when A. didn’t even leave her bike before she declared “I hafta go potty.” Not even when we turned right around and again danced that awkward push-carry-drag routine across four cross streets while I fake-cheerfully yelled “Stay with Mama while we cross the street!” My back ached; my shirt clung to me in the heat. No, no! Still happy here!

You cannot break my stride, children.

Not even when we, hours later, were supposed to be having nap time and instead you, V., could be heard from my spot folding laundry in the room below, as you bounced on your knees on your bed, tossed out books, your cup, your diaper.

Or you, L., who stopped sleeping through the night in favor of more than a dozen wake-ups to have your pacifier put back in your mouth — but just long enough for me to fall face-first into bed and start dreaming again before you beckon. Why, dear child, can you not use your thumb?

Nevertheless, you cannot break me.

And I promise to go back to work Tuesday with a renewed sense that I cannot do that every day. But I will continue to prattle on about it, anyhow. Work, you cannot break me.

]]>http://www.momicillin.com/2012/07/09/i-will-be-happy-or-so-help-me/feed/0Who Wears the Bathing Suit in the Family?http://www.momicillin.com/2012/06/07/who-wear-the-bathing-suit-in-the-family/
http://www.momicillin.com/2012/06/07/who-wear-the-bathing-suit-in-the-family/#commentsThu, 07 Jun 2012 13:43:24 +0000Erinhttp://www.momicillin.com/?p=4892Posted in StoriesLast year’s parent-child swimming lessons were so epic, D. and I have already begun arguing over who has to be the one to don the bathing suits we both looked way hotter in before we had children (even him, yes) to take part in the class with our 4-year-old. I’m still trying to get over last year’s highlights. My favorite memory last year? Maybe A. standing beside the edge of the pool as the other kids jumped in, pee running [...]]]>Last year’s parent-child swimming lessons were so epic, D. and I have already begun arguing over who has to be the one to don the bathing suits we both looked way hotter in before we had children (even him, yes) to take part in the class with our 4-year-old.

I’m still trying to get over last year’s highlights.

My favorite memory last year? Maybe A. standing beside the edge of the pool as the other kids jumped in, pee running down her leg as she screamed “I’M GOING POTTY NOW!”, as my awkward and pale mom-body leapt out of the water to tackle her/ walk her into the bathrooms, even though clearly it was too late.

No, maybe my favorite part was the way my bathing suit didn’t really fit all that well … And geez, I’m so tired? And why is this — tug, tug — not fitting anymore? Oh, maybe because I was 8 weeks pregnant and I had no idea. Yes, that was a fun discovery I made on the morning of one of the last lessons.

Or maybe it was peeling A.’s fingers off the side of the pool 14 times a lesson, where she clung like her fingers were magnetically attached and wailed? Yes, yes. Good times.

When the teacher handed us the big ol’ F last year — “F” for “far, far unprepared to advance to the next level” — I just knew it would come to this: standing in the kitchen debating who could best play the part of parent-cheerleader-swimming partner. Awesome.

“I just had a baby four months ago. I don’t want to wear a bathing suit yet.”

“You look fine.”

“You just don’t want to do it.”

“It’s so cold!”

“And they sing Wheels on the Bus!”

“EVERY DAY. Why!”

“I’ll do it,” I said, expecting to volley this one in a “No, I’ll do it!” fashion.

“OK.”

“Hey!”

“Hey, you said you’d do it.”

“The last time I got in that pool I got pregnant.”

“I don’t think that’s quite how that worked.”

“Do you want to take that chance?”

*Pause*

“Yes.”

Argh.

And so I have six days to make the bathing suit fit. And to practice my soothing mom voice: “A., Mom is not going to let you drown. By the way, do you have to go potty? … How about now? Now? No? OK, let me know. Now?”

]]>http://www.momicillin.com/2012/06/07/who-wear-the-bathing-suit-in-the-family/feed/0http://www.momicillin.com/2012/06/05/4886/
http://www.momicillin.com/2012/06/05/4886/#commentsTue, 05 Jun 2012 12:31:37 +0000Erinhttp://www.momicillin.com/?p=4886Posted in BitsMy 2-year-old kills spiders in the bathroom. Had I seen this coming, I would’ve had children years ago.]]>My 2-year-old kills spiders in the bathroom. Had I seen this coming, I would’ve had children years ago.
]]>http://www.momicillin.com/2012/06/05/4886/feed/0Post-workdom Blueshttp://www.momicillin.com/2012/05/21/post-workdom-blues/
http://www.momicillin.com/2012/05/21/post-workdom-blues/#commentsMon, 21 May 2012 13:07:16 +0000Erinhttp://www.momicillin.com/?p=4867Posted in StoriesI’ve been back at work part-time about six or eight weeks now, and I was finally able to breathe normally when I moved back to full-time last week. So came Thursday, aka “Should’ve Had a Chia Pet Instead of Children” Day. Oh yes. It was five minutes to dinner time and I had a half-done grocery list on the counter (because I shop after bedtime to save my Saturday for more important things, like not sleeping in), three crying children [...]]]>I’ve been back at work part-time about six or eight weeks now, and I was finally able to breathe normally when I moved back to full-time last week. So came Thursday, aka “Should’ve Had a Chia Pet Instead of Children” Day. Oh yes.

It was five minutes to dinner time and I had a half-done grocery list on the counter (because I shop after bedtime to save my Saturday for more important things, like not sleeping in), three crying children and a dog that threw up something yellow hours ago on the carpet.

On the carpet — I have a house full of wood floors and he parks himself on my $20 IKEA rug. It would be more dramatic if I said it were an heirloom rug, but really, the annoyance level is the same.

And that’s not the point: I cried those “no, I’m not crying” tears that sound like I’ve got a runny nose.

I just felt like I wasn’t doing anything right, at home and at work. I was yelling at my kids, burning dinner, and I hadn’t even taken off my coat yet. Plus, I hadn’t finished my work at work, either. Fail, from sun rise to burnt eggs for dinner … because I’d forgotten to set out the chicken.

I’m just no Mister Rogers, right; I’m also no Martha Stewart, no kind of cook, no kind of do-it-all person, because that is a lie. I know that now. When you have three children, you can’t do it all, because there’s too much to do.

So as I was tossing toast and eggs onto plates while the kids watched TV in the other room and the baby was perched on my hip, I realized something had to change. I’m working on that, because I have no idea what that vague sentiment means.

But then A. ran in and hugged my legs. Done with throwing a fit because I wouldn’t let her watch “Caillou” on Netflix (I was OK with “The Muppets” on DVD, though), she grabbed on and wouldn’t let go.

“Mama, I love you.” And then she ran off.

I mean, a Chia Pet can’t do that, right? And yes, I realize she was just thanking me for letting her watch TV. But still. Still.